


There Is Just One Thing I Need

by panchostokes (badwolfrun)



Series: Ficverse: Parker and Madison Stokes [12]
Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Angst, Blink and you'll miss it reference to Nick/Greg, Christmas, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:40:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28271046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badwolfrun/pseuds/panchostokes
Summary: Nick has a rough time around the holidays in both past and present, but is comforted by two of the most important women in his life; his wife and his daughter.
Relationships: Nick Stokes & Madison Stokes, Nick Stokes & Original Female Character(s), Nick Stokes/Naomi "Proot" Stokes, Nick Stokes/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Ficverse: Parker and Madison Stokes [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1385533
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	There Is Just One Thing I Need

**Author's Note:**

> I've been having a bit of a rough time this year so naturally...I'm making Nick have a rough time, too (for mostly different reasons but I'd be lying if I said there wasn't a little catharsis in here for me.)
> 
> Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to everybody.

The scents and tastes and general ambience of the holiday season seemed duller that year, for both of them. Last year they had ridden high on their first christmas together, as a family, giving Parker the best first Christmas they could give their bundle of joy and feeling a true warmth in each other’s company for the first time since their first night of passion together. 

But even Christmas in California could get so  _ cold. _

He tried to avoid it, but Nick was stuck working late the night before Christmas, and all through his house there was plenty of stirring from a teething toddler and an overtired woman with mousy hair scampering about trying to keep it all together, trying to make everything  _ perfect  _ just as it was the year before, because this day only comes once a year, and Parker will only have a second Christmas once, and Nick wasn’t going to be too late so that he could help but when he finally walked in the door—

“Hey, hun!” Naomi greeted.

He grunted in response. Let his shoulder bag fall unceremoniously to the ground, not even a concern about potentially damaging his laptop. 

“You hungry, babe?” she asked, knowing that the answer would be yes. It would always be “yes.” He was always hungry. She was always feeding him. 

He pushed the plate away, though kept the drink nearby.

And it wasn’t the refusal of food that should have tipped her off the way it did, but rather, how he ignored an equally eager greeting from Sam, who seemed to get the hint and run out with his tail between his legs.

“Rough night?” she asked as he threw his glasses off his face and they slid across the table.

He grunted again.

“Mama, uce!” Parker babbled, tapping his mother on her cheek in rapid succession as she held him against her hip. 

_ “Juice,  _ Parker. Juh-Juh- _ Juice.” _

“Uce!” Parker pouted in defiance. 

That should have made Nick laugh. It normally would have.

“Uce! Uce! Uce!” he continued to say, shout,  _ scream.  _

All while flailing his arms against his mother, who couldn’t even get him juice if she tried, as one hand was tied with her son’s tiny fingers that were now tugging on her hair, while the other had to keep him from falling to the floor. 

“Here, go by Daddy for a second—” 

She passed Parker to Nick, plopping him on the table and sliding him towards the end. Nick was far from prepared, but his instincts kicked in and kept Parker from falling sideways as he continued to demand his “uce,” but Naomi could still hear the  _ very  _ heavy sigh wave through his body and waft his exhale against Parker’s curls. 

“Uuuuuuuuuuce!” Parker groaned as he spun around and reached out a hand, his fingers grasping the unattainable sugary drink he was craving. 

“Hang on just a second, baby,” Naomi called out as she opened the fridge, but the juice wasn’t an easy pick behind a wall of other drinks and foods that had since been stocked. 

“Mommaaaaaaaa!” Parker whined.

“Patience, Parker, patience,” a sing song that made Parker even more upset.

“No!” he threw his fists down, crossed his arms and pouted.

“Park, c’mon,” Naomi tried to reason without even looking. 

“Nooooooo! Parka want uce!” Parker screamed, and his arms unfurled, his hand slapped out and back-slapped Nick across the face.

“Parker!  _ Don’t. Hit.  _ Daddy!” Nick finally spoke, a sharp snap in his voice, but not a shout. 

It took all of two seconds for Parker to react with wobbling lips, crocodile tears and a loud wail.

“Nicholas!” Naomi gasped. 

“Don’t look at me like that! Isn’t it past his bedtime?” Nick spat out as Naomi rescued Parker from Nick’s reluctant hold and cradled him against her chest, shushing him with gentle whispers and forehead kisses.

“It’s okay, baby, Daddy is just being a mean old Grinch,” Naomi soothed him, shooting a mean glare at Nick. 

“Dada gwinch…” Parker blubbered as his tears soaked the neck of her shirt. 

She took Parker, with his sippy cup of juice, up to his room and tucked him in, reassuring him that, “no, sweetie, Daddy’s not mad at  _ you.” _

But she couldn’t say the same for herself.

Anxiety is not something that ever affected her as strongly as it would Nick. The last time she felt this nervous was when she had to knock on his door to tell him that she was carrying his child, as neither of them had expected it...or to ever see each other again, for that matter.

And she knew that something like this wouldn’t be an endgame, that when she walked down the stairs Nick would still be there, at the table—or perhaps not, as she had heard a loud noise as she sang Parker to sleep and had a feeling Nick may not be where he was before—yet she still had a sinking feeling as her feet descended on each step, approaching slowly and reigning in her own calm while her husband’s was evaporating off of his body.

She saw the source of the noise, a crash of glass spilled all over the tile. An overturned chair. 

A bloody hand that he was washing in the sink.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” she quickly asked.

He turned his head away, turned the faucet off with a guff mutter of “I’m fine.” He swiftly whipped the hand towel off of the oven handle and wrapped it around his hand.

“Let me get some bandages—”

“I said it’s  _ fine!”  _ he hissed. 

It was a dagger to her heart, but she only faltered for a minute in the face of his anger. She took a few steps back, gave him space as he paced for a minute before deciding upon a direction. She waited until his breathing settled, waited until he walked to the living room and sat down with his legs spread, examining the cut on his hand. It was a sight that would normally elicit sympathy out of the woman, but today all she could hear was Parker’s cries, and even if their child’s despair was a direct reflection of Nick’s inward feelings, she could not accept this sort of behavior.

She folded her arms and stood her ground even as he shot her a nasty look before finding sudden interest in the throw pillow on the opposite end of the couch. 

“Are you mad at me?” she asked.

It was a solid minute before he responded, in the smallest, softest voice he’s had all night.

“No,” he shook his head, still avoiding her eyes. 

“Alright. I’ll ask you again, then. Rough day?” 

“Yeah,” he admitted with a heaving sigh. With his unbloodied hand, he wiped his face and looked up at her as if she were the sun he hadn’t seen in a long time.

“I’m sorry,” his lips trembled before he bit down on them. “It was…it was one of  _ those  _ cases.”

“Oh, Nicky…” Naomi crumbled, too and immediately, but gently, pounced onto his lap and cupped the back of his head, reeling him in for a comforting kiss.

She felt the corners of his mouth lift upwards, the scraggles of his beard rubbing into her cheeks as he started to nuzzle his face into her shoulder while she raised and unfurled his hand to hold up and examine behind his back.

“I tried to do everything I could, gave it 110%, an’ I know all cases are important but some are just. You gotta handle them a certain way and be able to put your feelin’s aside an’ of course, I just. I can’t do that sometimes, and then this new crew we got on nights...They’re just so...stupid, hon,” he began to ramble into her shirt with a sniffle, his accent thick and his voice weary. “My supervisor was way over her head tryin’a get them to do things so I tried to step in and help and-and...It’s—It’s so frustratin’ cus I-I know how to do their job, and they  _ don’t, _ and they don’t seem to care to learn, a-and not even that, but how to do it  _ right  _ and then I wonder if  _ I’m _ just not teachin’ them right—“

“You definitely are. They’re just not listening.”

“I’m ruinin’ Chris’mas cause I spent all day losing my shit on these...these…”

“Noobs? Isn’t that what the kids say?”

His body shook in a laugh. 

“An’ I didn’t mean ta take it out on y’all. Y-yell at Parker like that—” he cried.

“You didn’t yell. And he’s still a baby. He’ll forget in the morning, especially when he sees that Santa came to visit,” Naomi gently pushed them apart and started to stroke the tufts of hair at the top of his head, tracing down his beard and lifting his chin to meet her eyes. “And you  _ didn’t ruin Christmas.  _ It’s impossible to fail at this holiday!”

“Oh, I’ve failed plenty,” he chuckled humorlessly as he wiped his eyes. 

“You’re too hard on yourself,” Naomi chuckled back into his ear, her tongue wrapping around his earlobe. 

“Teach me how to be softer, then,” he breathed, his lips starting to melt on her neck. 

“Well, now, Mr. Stokes, I see you’re an eager student who’s willing to learn and care oh so much…”

Nick laughed and she was relieved to see that the bomb was defused. 

“But there is just one thing I need…” she whispered in a sultry voice that would stick in his head for years.

“Anything!” he squeaked, her hands were traveling down his face, over his shoulders, moving his hands to his knees and sliding inward...

“Need your help lettin’ the big guy in. Got a  _ lot  _ of presents to spread out under the tree…”

“Anything for you, Santa’s little helper.”

* * *

There’s just one thing he needs to make this Christmas, or  _ any  _ Christmas just the right amount of perfect. 

He doesn’t have it.

He hasn’t for about four years now.

And he’ll never have it  _ ever again.  _

Ever since she...passed, holidays have been difficult. Even with the biggest family on the face of the earth, both bonded by blood and forged in the fires of unbreakable friendships, he just can’t help but feel so... _ alone  _ without her. 

He should be grateful that he had six wonderful ones with the woman he vowed to love in sickness and in health, in life and in death—which is the part he never thought he’d have to really own up to, would really have to cope with until they were far older and greyer and ready for the next life—though he never really believed in past lives or future lives, but she convinced him that there was something...beyond this one. That their souls are bound together no matter what would, could and should ultimately happen to them. 

A commitment he had never even came close to agreeing to, except for the man he’s thinking about calling, but doesn’t want to impose. Doesn’t want his pity. Just wants his love but for once in his life, he’s not going to jump the gun. 

He doesn’t think he’s ready.

And besides, he should also be grateful that while far away from Texas, while his Vegas family was scattered all around the world, and while the employees of his lab all gave him the present of being the strongest team he’s worked with since he moved to San Diego...he still has her company in the form of their offspring. The better versions of them. The ones who won’t make the same mistakes...

“DADDYYYYYYY!” a scream from the kitchen, startles him out of himself, and he releases a breath he didn’t even he was holding.

...though they still have a lot to learn.

“Yes, Maddy?” he calls out and within a second she appears in the doorframe.

“I want juice!” she clapped her hands together in a bubbly cheer.

“Okay, then open the refrigerator and get it,” he waved his hand towards the kitchen that was behind her.

“Okay!” she whisper-shouted and scampered away. He could hear her bare feet patter on the hardwood floor. 

He turned his head back to the book he was reading, an early Christmas gift from the Grissoms and a surprisingly sentimental choice on his old mentor’s behalf—a book about puffins, which he enjoys leafing through even if he already knew most of its contents. 

He almost broke out in a smile as he read about the flight of the pifflings until another sound snapped him out of his thoughts again.

“DAAAAAAAAAD,” Madison groaned. 

The four year old now stomped her feet and dragged herself into the living room completely, bumping herself up against Nick’s knees and leaning up to look at him. 

“I can’t do it!” she whined.

“Yes, you can, sweetie, I just saw you do it yesterday. You’re a big girl now, go on,” he nodded towards the kitchen.

“I want you to do it,” she pouted.

“Daddy’s busy.” 

“You’re  _ always  _ busy!” 

_ “Madison,”  _ Nick changes his tone. “Y’ain’t getting  _ any  _ juice if you keep whining like this.”

And just like that, Madison’s early dip into stubborn teenage behavior regressed back into the upset toddler who just doesn’t seem to understand how the world works.

Her chin wobbles. 

She blinks her eyes—she never liked crying. Ever since Parker, who thinks he’s too cool to cry now, made fun of her the year before, she’s gotten in the habit of trying to hide whenever she does—but she never hides with Nick and he can tell she does her best to try and hold it in, something he hopes she didn’t pick up from him. 

He usually tries to encourage her to let it out—“cry it out, pick yourself up, then we’ll try again.” 

He always tells her that crying is not a weakness. It’s human. She should never be ashamed to cry.

He never scolds her for it, and instead offers his shoulder to cry on. 

Today, he ignores it. 

When she realizes this, she drags herself out of the room with a scoffing sigh that reminds him of his mother and he doesn’t see her again for another hour, presumably in her room after he hears a door slam. 

A behavior she picked up from his son, who had also hidden himself away in his room, after Nick tried to decorate the Christmas tree with a brand new set of ornaments, instead of the ones they always used in the past. With their mother.

This year, for some reason, he just...couldn’t even  _ look  _ at them.

Especially not the “Baby’s First Christmas” ornaments, because for some reason, he never quite realized before…

Naomi wasn’t even alive for Madison’s first Christmas.

A fact which hurt more than just his heart, it nearly crippled his entire body.

When Madison returns, she puts on a loud and extravagant display with her portable music player and microphone combination, singing her favorite Christmas songs off key though she replaces any use of “egg nog” with “juice” and mispronounces or misses half of the words. 

“Madison, honey, that’s a little loud,” Nick shouts over the music when she runs in front of him and starts to dance in the middle of the room. His head is throbbing, wincing at the screeching feedback of the cheap sound quality.

_ “I don’ wanna lot for Chris’miss!”  _ she gleefully sings.  _ “There is jus’ one thing I need! I don’t care about the prezints undaneath the Chris’mas twee…” _

“Oh, if that’s the case I’ll tell Santa to skip our house, then,” he tries to joke in a deadpan, but his words sound a little more threatening than he intended.

“Daddy!” she gasps before she continues singing, making her way out of the room, walking behind the couch and Nick thinks he’s safe until—

_ “All I want for Chris’miss is youuuuUUUUUUUUUUUuuuuuuuuuuuu!”  _ she loudly, obnoxiously screams into his ear.

“Madison Grace, turn that  _ off  _ right now!” Nick barks, slamming his book shut just as loud as the snap of his voice.

But it’s not as loud as the sound of her music player dropping to the floor, and the squealing whine, the hyperventilating breaths she takes before she runs off to her room again.

This time, she doesn’t even come out for dinner, not even for her favorite food advertised in grand fashion by her older brother, who was at least trying to make things better even though he wasn’t even at fault.

Nick doesn’t make the effort until he meets Parker’s eyes at the dinner table, having spent a majority of the meal in uncomfortable silence. Naomi’s eyes. Silently screaming to him that he needs to go apologize for being such an ass. 

Nick opens the fridge and finds the juice on the door, at the perfect height for a four year old to find it. 

He pours a glass and arranges a platter of food on her favorite plate, the Star Wars one shaped like Yoda’s face—“No, that’s  _ baby  _ Yoda, Daddy!”

He walks up the stairs and the house has never been so silent. His heart has never been so low. 

He feels just as nervous as he did when he had to sit down with Parker and tell him what happened, without telling him what happened to his own mother. 

Why she wouldn’t be home for Christmas that year. 

For Madison’s first Christmas.

“Maddy, baby?” Nick gently knocks on the door with his knuckles, his glasses are fogging and starting to fall off his nose. “Can I come in?”

“Okay...but I want  _ Daddy  _ and not Mr. Grinch!” she calls out in a shaky voice.

He chuckles beneath his breath and opens the door. She’s sitting on her bed hugging her knees. Her hair is frazzled and mousy, tear streaks pouring from reddened eyes. Balls of tissues everywhere, on top of old pictures and books that he recognizes, but isn’t certain are what he thinks they are until he sits on the bed, handing her the glass of juice and placing the plate on her nightstand. 

He pushes off the tissues and tear drops of the scrapbook of his and Naomi’s wedding. He smiles as he picks up a picture of him, Naomi and Parker in Disneyland. He laughs at a picture of himself, absolutely terrified as he’s holding not just one, but  _ two  _ babies in his arms as Naomi smirks at him from her hospital bed. 

He nearly crumbles when he sees the last picture they ever took together. The last Christmas card they ever made as a family. 

The last one they could  _ ever  _ make.

“Are you mad at me?” Madison sniffles, not having touched her food or drank the juice. 

“No, I could  _ never  _ be mad at you, honey,” he shakes his head, choking back tears while retracting back his tongue into his mouth, pursing his lips together. “Daddy’s just having a bad day, and he’s—I’m very sorry that I yelled at you. It wasn’t nice of me. I didn’t mean to up-upset you.”

He turns his head away, bites down on a fist.

“It’s okay to cry, Daddy. Cry it out, pick yourself up, and try again,” she whispers to him, crawling over the memories of the past and turning his head to look at the present—the _ best  _ present he could have ever been given in this life. 

She cups her small hand on his cheek, uses her other to pet his hair, but she needs to climb onto him to get closer and he swoops her up, embracing her in his arms. He nuzzles his head against hers and though his body trembles with a silent sob, she provides the anchor he needs to keep from collapsing all together, just like her mother always did. 

“Daddy?” she asks after a couple of minutes.

“Yes, Maddy?” he asks, his voice still in a quiver but normalized with a final, settling sniffle. 

“Can I put out some cookies and milk for Santa?” she pushes herself off his chest and tugs gently at his sleeve.

“Of couse, baby,” he smiles at her, gently sweeping the wild, damp strands of hair out of her eyes. 

“Can I stay up to see him?” her voice raises in excitement, quickens in pace.

“Nice try, kiddo,” he laughs. “You just want to get a peek at your presents,” he adds with a tickling jab that makes her giggle.

“I just wanta help him like I help you!” she chokes out through her wild giggles, the sweetest music to his ears filling the air of the house that had never felt so empty before...but now, it’s filled to the brim with all the love he could give and take.

“Santa’s little helper,” he grins at her, and it gives him an idea. “But you know what? I think we need to help Parker instead.”

“Help him with what?” 

He carries her to his bedroom, opens his closet to lower down the shoebox of neglected ornaments. Some handcrafted by Parker, some chosen by Naomi. All of them hidden away by Nick who thought it would hurt more to use and see them, than to hide them away with the rest of his pain. 

He knows he’s going to make a lot of mistakes as a parent, but doesn’t want Parker and Madison to end up  _ too  _ much like him. 

“Think we missed a few on the tree this year...what do you think?”

“We gotsta get the angel, too, Daddy!” 

“The angel?”

“Yeah, Parker said the angel at the top of the tree. For Momma. Cause she’s always looking down on us.”

“Yes. You’re absolutely right, sweetheart,” he says, choking back more tears and planting a kiss on his daughter’s forehead. “She’s always watching us.”


End file.
